


home (5:00am)

by luxrays (frosmxths)



Series: liminal spaces [2]
Category: ONF (Band)
Genre: (sort of), Drabble, M/M, Relationship Study, Unspecified Setting, playgrounds at 5am
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 03:28:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29325471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frosmxths/pseuds/luxrays
Summary: The little suspension bridge squeaks, soft, high-pitched, strained—Hyojin’s footsteps follow, Hyojin’s eyes follow—and then he’s standing by polished wooden boards, bars, and his hand is wet with dew and mist, and Seungjun’s smiling at him.It’s 5am, Hyojin hasn’t slept.
Relationships: Kim Hyojin/Lee Seungjun | J-Us
Series: liminal spaces [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2102604
Comments: 6
Kudos: 16





	home (5:00am)

Hyojin doesn’t tend to take walks this late at night— not without having slept, at least, and not on his own—but, at that odd hour before sunrise, when the light’s but a ghost in the horizon that eats up the night sky and paints it blue, Hyojin walks—

Hyojin walks—hands in his pockets and scarf around his neck, early September air to red strands and to his glasses, his eyes—

It’s not that he couldn’t sleep, not quite—he could’ve slept, he could’ve stayed home, he could be resting, sleeping—he could be in bed and warm _warm_ against looming fall—

It’s not that he couldn’t sleep, not quite, but—right now, when the world’s taken by twilight and everything’s turned to an illusion—he’s glad he hasn’t slept, he’s walking, he’s _awake—_

It’s not that he couldn’t—can’t—sleep, but Hyojin can’t sleep, not yet, not quite—

And so, he walks—lets his steps echo against the mist—lets himself get lost, a wandering little soul to the call of the night, the mist, the dew, the _world—_

Hyojin walks, steps soft, quiet, much like the _pitter patter_ of rain—soft touches to a world covered in morning dew, in the absence of light, in nothing _nothing nothing at all—_

He gets to a park—shrouded, familiar, wet, _lost—_ walks over concrete with eyes on green grass, on how it reflects the streetlights’ light, just enough, dew on soft light and against the fog, against reality, _against—_

His steps take him, thoughtless, _light_ —lost in the fog and lost in the twilight—and then he halts.

Hands in his pockets and hair on his face, he halts in front of yellow, beige—the grass is dry, yet covered in mist, in dew— covered in droplets against yellowed life—

A playground, a darker green, artificial grass, artificial breathing—wooden games empty, worn-out wood washed in dew, in mist, in _breathing_ —

The little suspension bridge squeaks, soft, high-pitched, strained—Hyojin’s footsteps follow, Hyojin’s eyes follow—and then he’s standing by polished wooden boards, bars, and his hand is wet with dew and mist, and Seungjun’s smiling at him.

Hyojin smiles back, crooked, tired—it’s 5am, he hasn’t slept—it’s 5am, Seungjun’s awake, Seungjun hasn’t slept—it’s 5am, and neither has slept.

“You know you’re not supposed to be up there, right?” Light, teasing—Seungjun cocks his head to the side, gives Hyojin a smile, still, all bright and beautiful—

“Why not?” and Hyojin snorts, gives a roll of his eyes—points at a worn-out little sign that’s hidden behind the fog—a reality lost to the magic, to the air, to _time—_

“Maximum height:” obnoxiously loud—it makes Seungjun laugh, sharp, amused— “150cm, since you can’t read from over here?” and he lifts an eyebrow slightly, hand falling back to wood, to Seungjun’s warmth.

“No one’s here to watch, though?” A pout, a shrug, eyes to Hyojin’s, eyes through the mist.

“I am” and Hyojin’s laughing—tired, bright—and Seungjun groans, bridge shaking and squeaking as he kicks his legs, doesn’t get up. “Why’re you here?”

“It’s cold” Seungjun gives another shrug, pulls at the ends of his sleeves—jacket too light, yet still bright, still warm— “Couldn’t sleep?” and Hyojin breathes out another laugh, a noise—Seungjun pouts again, leans back and to the front again, lets his legs dangle off the bridge, the platform. “Didn’t wanna sleep” and now he’s smiling, quieter—maybe a little careful, even— “Wanted to walk”

“In the cold?” Hyojin pats at Seungjun’s leg, Seungjun lets his legs swing— kick at nothing, kick at twilight.

“I like the cold” a hum, a softer smile. “You don’t, though?” his head cocked to the side, his eyes on Hyojin’s—bright and grounding, like the moon, the hidden sun-

“I don’t” Hyojin takes a step back, arm outstretched, lips ion a frown, a smile—“I wanna go home”

“Then go home” Seungjun kicks at Hyojin’s hand, his chest—and then he leans back a second, brings his legs on top of the platform—pushes himself up, too tall for the little wooden game, uncomfortable, _smiling—_

The wooden platform creaks, and Hyojin laughs, drops his hand and steps back _back_ some more—

“I’m going home” Hyojin’s voice is a little quiet, a little tired, still—

Seungjun jumps down, lands soft on artificial green, artificial dew—lands soft against fading twilight and artificial lights.

“Where’s home?” and Seungjun steps forward—into Hyojin’s space and until he can catch his breathing, warmth, cold, warmth, _warmth—_

“Not here” and Hyojin’s hand goes up to Seungjun’s forehead, pushes messy silver bangs back—all wet with dew, with the mist, with the _night—_ flick of a finger all too loving, too careless— “And not you” and his hand falls—falls to Seungjun’s arm, to his breathing, pulse—

“You break my heart” playful and with a smile as Seungjun takes Hyojin’s hand, lets their fingers intertwine, soft, careful, warm, _bright—_

“I don’t” and Seungjun pulls him forward, clumsy steps to grass, to dew, to cement— and Hyojin follows, laughs in a breath, a second—hold on tight against the mist, the cold, the _world—_

And against the fading twilight and a sparkling sun—against hidden light and the colour of the mist—against smiles under the cold and warmth of the moon, the sun—against light and against reality—they go home to each other with a kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> [twt](https://twitter.com/frosmxths)
> 
> [cc](https://curiouscat.me/frosmxths)


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